


So no one told you life was gonna be this way

by thebowtie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But who wants that?, Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gay Love, Healthy Relationships, M/M, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Romance, also Ron would totally name his coffee shop Dragon's Denn I will fight over this, not so much of an AU really, post trauma, the one with the friends AU noone but me asked for, there isn't going to be a "Ross" I pormise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-18 10:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20637308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebowtie/pseuds/thebowtie
Summary: Out of nowhere came a memory of the other as a child, extending his hand towards Harry in Hogwarts Express on their first ride to Hogwarts. What was happening now, in front of Dragon's Denn, seemed like a dream version of that scene years ago. A dream in which Malfoy was offering his hand again, vulnerable, lost, and Harry had the chance to take it, to maybe show him the right people this time around. To be his friend, finally.





	1. The One With The Runaway Groom

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This has been a draft for ages and I figured in order for it to go somewhere I'll have to post the first chapter and see what others think. Also English is not my first language and I have no one to beta. 
> 
> So any feedback would be much appreciated.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! :)

The friends were all in the Denn when it happened. That is to say: it was an average Thursday afternoon. Luna and Ginny were occupying the most comfortable sofa in the room. It was an old three-seater in a washed out yellow that Ron, George and Ginny had inherited from their late Aunt Muriel. George was rather hanging than sitting on one of the armchairs that were paired with the sofa though they only bore a vague resemblance. The three of them were engaged into a lively conversation. Hermione was proof-reading a paper in the second armchair across from George. It was the scripture of an article on _The_ _Impact of Trauma on the Ability to Produce Defence Charms_ which she was co-publishing with Dean Thomas and which posed a “ground-breaking work in the psychological approach to wizardry” as she would tell everyone who would listen with gleaming eyes. Ron was clearing off the bar, whistling along to the tunes of the old radio set on a shelve overhead of the coffee machines. It was nearly closing time and that was per usual the time when Ron was in the best mood.

Harry wasn’t exactly inside the Café, but nevertheless visible through the large front window he was leaning against with his back, eyes towards Grimmauld Place. His posture was relaxed, half standing, half sitting on the small windowpane, one leg stretched out, the other stemmed against the wall underneath the window. His left hand was resting on the sun warmed stone, his right held a cigarette in place as he took a long drag, eyes half closed against the light of the setting sun. That was, until a shadow moved in front of him, blocking the light out for a moment. Harry blinked.

The man the shadow belonged to looked back with something like agony in his otherwise composed posture. He was wearing a very festive robe that was probably bespoke. But as expansive as the clothes looked, everything seemed to be just slightly off. His hair, too, was mussed, blonde stands sticking out in several directions. The other cleared his throat, averting his gaze. And, well, wasn’t that a first for Draco Malfoy to look nervous, Harry mused. He exhaled smoke.

“Malfoy,” he acknowledged not unkindly. Then, when Malfoy only nodded his head in a minimal gesture: “Aren’t you supposed to get married?”

Malfoy grimaced. “Can I have one of those?” He asked, pointing to the cigarette between Harry’s fingers. Harry mustered him a moment longer, then he shrugged and pulled out his package, offering it to the other. When Malfoy had pulled one out, Harry returned the others to his pocket and produced a lighter from another. Malfoy looked at the device, startled.

“It’s a lighter,” Harry explained with amusement, “It makes fire.”

“I know what a lighter is,” Malfoy hissed, but there was hardly any bite to it. He eyed the lighter, not making any attempts to take it. Harry sighed.

“But you don’t know how to use it,” it wasn’t a question. “Come here.”

Harry lit the device with a fluid motion of his thumb, protecting the flame with his other hand from the light breeze. Malfoy leaned forward and took a deep drag as he held the tip of his cigarette into the fire. As Harry let go, the fire was gone, and the lighter disappeared back into his pocket.

“I could have lid it with magic,” Malfoy insisted as he took a place next to Harry on the window pane.

Harry smiled. “You could have,” he agreed. There was a charm around the coffee shop after all. Harry wondered about how easily a smile came to his face when Malfoy was talking with him now. There was no fire in their bickering anymore – or rather: the hate, the agony, the bite in it were missing. And what was left was almost a strange familiarity. They had known each other for so long without ever really knowing. They smoked in silence for a while.

“I ran away,” Malfoy said eventually.

Harry raised an eyebrow, questioningly. He had guessed, and yet he was surprised. “Why?”

Malfoy brooded. Lips wrapping more tightly around the cigarette as he dragged on it, eyes narrowed.

Harry waited.

“I don’t owe them,” he said eventually. He sounded stubborn and defiant.

Harry thought that he probably hadn’t told anyone before leaving and that he was the first to hear this. The person Malfoy could try his thousand apologies on. Harry found that, oddly enough, he didn’t mind.

“I don’t need to live what they deem to be perfect and befitting for a Malfoy.” Malfoy took a deep breath as if he wanted to add something, but then he didn’t, taking another swig instead, inhaling deeply.

Harry looked at him from the side, his own cigarette smoked out.

“What?” Malfoy asked as he opened his eyes and caught him looking.

Harry shrugged. “Good,” he stated simply.

Malfoy’s frown deepened momentarily. “Good?” he asked. His voice sounded a little rougher when he was smoking, Harry noted. Or maybe he was just imagining.

“Do you regret it?”

A few beats passed in which Malfoy inhaled and exhaled, thoughtful for a moment.

“No.”

“Then it’s good.”

Malfoy looked at him strangely. As if he had expected something else. He didn’t seem negatively surprised, though. Instead, he offered a small answering smile. Harry thought that he had never seen Malfoy smile honestly. His eyes seemed to change dramatically, lighting the cool stale grey up with warmth.

Malfoy nodded, to himself. “It’s good,” he repeated, and Harry watched in amazement as the other’s smile grew and split into an almost joyful short laughter. All the tenseness fell visibly off Malfoy in this short instance. His face lid up and his body relaxed into its posture. Malfoy looked tired now, but not so much hunted anymore.

“I can’t go back.” It was a statement, not a question. It didn’t sound as if the thought had just occurred to Malfoy, but rather like a truth he had already come to terms with. All or nothing.

Harry wondered if he should say that surely Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy – as much as Harry disliked them personally – would love him despite his choice. He dimly remembered the picture the three of them had made as the only Death Eaters still alive during the feast following the Battle of Hogwarts. More than anything just happy and relieved to be together and alive, no matter the outcome of a war that, technically, was lost for them. He didn’t say it, though.

After a moment of consideration Malfoy added, “Not in a long while anyways.”

The blonde looked at Harry then, from the side, his fingers clinging to the filter of his cigarette. Harry looked back. He knew that they both remembered his drunken offer a few weeks back. Now, seen in the bright light of the May sun, soberly, that night seemed like years ago, a vague memory of a dream.

_You can always come and live with us._ Had he really said that? But Harry knew from the unsecure question in Malfoy’s eyes that, indeed, he had, and that the other wasn’t quite sure either. Neither whether Harry wanted to remember, nor whether the offer was still good. Was it? Harry realised that, should he decide to let the matter drop, they would part ways here, once again. But Malfoy had remembered, Harry thought, Malfoy had come to him after fleeing from an arranged wedding and he was asking him for help. Of all people. The other was running a huge risk of being rejected, of being laughed away. Malfoy wasn’t going to ask for it, not verbally anyways.

Out of nowhere came a memory of the other as a child, extending his hand towards Harry in Hogwarts Express on their first ride to Hogwarts. What was happening now, in front of the Dragon's Denn, seemed like a dream version of that scene, years ago. A dream in which Malfoy was offering his hand again, vulnerable, lost, and Harry had the chance to take it, to maybe show him the right people this time around. To be his friend, finally.

“There’s a free room in my flat,” Harry said eventually, looking at the street in front of them. His throat felt curiously dry, from the smoking, probably. He waited, counting in is head from 20 down. He gave up at 6 and risked a glance to the side. Their eyes met, and they hold gaze. Harry wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know why this felt so huge, as if something big passed between them with neither of them addressing it.

“If you want to…” Harry trailed of, cleared his throat. “Until you find something or make up with your parents.” He was painfully glad, suddenly, that Malfoy had caught him outside. What if he had been inside with the others? Would Malfoy have come in? Would they be able to have this conversation?

“I’d-“ Malfoy started, then cleared his throat as well, “I’d much appreciate that, Potter.” They looked at each other for another few moments. Then, Harry smiled. He couldn’t help it. This was too absurd. He extended one hand awkwardly between them.

“Harry,” he offered, his smile turning somewhat crooked. Malfoy laughed again, that short-instant-laugh from before that made Harry’s stomach tingle in a way he didn’t want to further think about.

“Draco,” he answered by taking Harry’s hand, a smile still playing around his lips, wondrous maybe, Harry thought, because it was exactly how he felt.

“Good to meet you, Draco.”

***

“This is going to be tough.”

Harry didn’t argue. They were still standing in front of the Café. Inside, the others were going after their usual afternoon business: relaxing and, in case of Ron and Hermione, working. It had that peaceful air of relaxation, of simple all-day occurrence, that Harry had come to be desperately fond of.

“Are you ready?” he asked after a moment of silently watching Ginny and George laugh about something Luna had said. Draco shrugged with a reserved face.

“I guess.”

Harry smiled encouragingly. He wasn’t sure at all how his friends would react. All of them had more than one good reason to hate Draco Malfoy, especially Ron and Hermione. _Especially I_, Harry thought. But he didn’t hate Draco, did he? Not even a bit, he realised. _Not anymore. _He frowned slightly at the insistent voice in his head. He would have time later to ponder on his new-found strength in forgiveness. His therapist would be proud. 

“Relax.” Harry wasn’t sure whom he was reassuring – himself or Draco – but it didn’t matter now anyways, since he had already pushed the door open.

The ringing of the entrance bell had become so familiar that none of the friends looked up as the two of them entered. Harry felt more at ease immediately. He had never been a great strategist, but he knew that a great entrance wasn’t the thing to look for in such a situation.

“Hey, Harry,” Ron greeted without turning around to look at him while he was cleaning up the last cups of the day. Ron had developed a surprising fondness of doing dishes by hand or “the Muggle way” as he called it. “I started thinking that you might have choked on one of these dead-stalks.”

Harry grinned. “Didn’t, though,” he answered, easily ignoring the jab against his habit, “I found someone who wants to live in Neville’s old room.”

“Brilliant! Luna’s going to be disappointed that the Flagpuddler won’t move in after all.” Ron chuckled to himself as he dried of the last cup and Harry saw him turning as if in slow motion. “So!” he started, “Who’s it go-“ He came to an abrupt halt when he faced them. The smile fell from his face. Harry could feel Draco stiffen next to him.

“Well, fuck me hard with Merlin’s broomstick,” Ron muttered

“Hey, nice one!” George called from the sofa, complimenting Ron’s cursing. Harry could pinpoint the second when George noticed that something was the matter. His eyes wandered from his brother to Harry and stopped on Draco, the mirth disappearing from his features. “Bite me,” he said, “Harry what is Malfoy doing here?” It was enough to have everyone, even Hermione, turn to look at them.

Harry sighed. “He’s going to move into Neville’s old room,” he stated as matter of fact as possible. The temperature in the room sunk a little. The Weaselys and Hermione looked shocked in various degrees from Ginny’s fierce fighting stance to George’s careful reservation. Even Luna had lost her smile for the moment, mustering them curiously. Harry knew that this needed explanation, but before he could start, Draco spoke up himself, adding to Harry’s statement.

“If you don’t mind.”

The room was still silent, the expression on most its inhabitants showing quite frankly that, yes, they did mind.

Draco cleared his throat. “I understand that I’m hardly a face anyone here would love to see on a regular basis. I’m aware that I offended every single one of you at one point, and worse: I did it in full intent. I was on the wrong side for far too long and there’s no excusing all the things I’ve said and done to bring harm to either you or your friends and families.” Draco swallowed hard as if saying these words made it more difficult to exist. Harry wondered at what point Draco had come up with a speech. “I can’t make it unhappen, and I can’t ask you to pretend it didn’t happen. But I regret it deeply and I’m sorry.” Draco paused, taking his time to look at every one of them individually, Harry felt struck when at last, Draco’s gaze met his and hold it. “I’m sorry,” Draco repeated a little quieter.

Harry nodded numbly, a slight smile on his face. They had forgiven each other already in that one night of drunken comradely. This, however, wasn’t the almost adorable drunk version of Draco Malfoy he had met a few weeks ago. This was a Draco Malfoy showing humility and honest regret while completely sober, standing in the middle of a Café filled with people he had done wrong, keeping his dignity not despite but because of his repentance.

“So…is anyone else unsure whether this is the real Draco Malfoy?” George asked eventually into the tense silence of the room, “Because whoever this is just apologized in a _decent_ manner.”

Draco broke eye contact with Harry as he turned to look at George thoughtfully. “I’m not quite sure I am the _real_ Draco Malfoy myself,” he admitted, “I certainly hope that I changed for the better since the end of war, and though I can’t take it all back, I’d like to show you that I can add better things to your memory of me, if it’s not too much to ask.”

“Why?” This time it was Ron speaking and every inch of his face spoke of mistrust. “Why would you come here and ask to live with us suddenly? Us – of all people. If I’m not mistaken blood traitors and muggle-born are still no looked after company in Malfoy Manor. Let alone the man who won the war against you.” 

Draco shifted a little.

Harry, though curious to some extend regarding those questions, decided that it was time to step in. “I invited him,” he admitted.

Now it was their turn to stare at him, but before Ron or Hermione could say anything, Harry continued. “A few weeks ago, we met at a bar and got drunk together and I offered him to live with us.”

“But why?” Hermione inquired, speaking up for the first time. “Harry, he tried to kill you several times.” Harry was about to answer that obviously he was quite alive still and that he had nearly killed Draco himself once, but again Draco stepped in before him.

“Because my parents tried to force an arranged wedding on me. And I didn’t- I didn’t want them to talk me into yet another mistake that I’ll regret for the rest of my life.” It was silent again.

“Oh.” Harry turned, knowing by instinct that such a sound could only come from Luna. “Is that why you are dressed up as a groom?” She looked up and down Draco’s fancy robe. “I already thought that the two of you might have gotten secretly married.” 

Harry chocked on his own saliva, falling into a coughing fit. Draco, to everyone’s surprise, smiled at Luna. “I wouldn’t marry Harry in those clothes,” he just said neutrally, “I do have some degree of dignity.”

Harry didn’t know what was worse: that Luna nodded understandingly or that his mind was completely caught up by the fact that Draco had just implied that, if not for the clothes, he would marry Harry. As a _joke_.

“There is nothing wrong with my clothes,” he said, crankily. Draco looked at him with a glint of mischief in his eyes. And, yes, Harry wanted to get used to that expression of confidence. 

“Your pants are two sizes too big for you and that shirt – even if it wasn’t dirty and clearly oversized – is from the last decade.” Harry opened and closed his mouth. Looking down at his clothes.

“He’s actually right, Harry,” Ginny threw in, “You really could do with clothes that fit you for a change.”

“Why, thank you for the support, Gin,” Harry retorted grumpily, but he grinned. Ginny had just agreed on something with Draco Malfoy.

“Anyways,” interrupted Ron who looked still tense, “Why _are_ you wearing wedding robes, Malfoy?”

“I ran away from my wedding,” Draco answered calmly, then added: “Before it became an actual wedding, really.”

“And Harry was your first place to go?” Hermione asked from her armchair. Her voice was sharp and the look she regarded Draco with was cutting.

Draco looked sort of caught cold by the question. He considered her for quite a while. Harry silently admired his ability to stay unmoved under that glance.

“Yes,” Draco said eventually, he sounded almost surprised by it himself. Hermione hold Draco’s glance for a while longer wearing an expression that all of them feared when they were trying to hide something. When she turned her gaze, she didn’t seem unsatisfied.

“If you want to stay – and Harry seems to have no objection for whatever reason,” Hermione started eventually, “I think I can try to live with it.” Harry sighed in relief, shooting his friend a thankful smile. Hermione was both the voice of reason in their group and the one person after Harry that Draco had insulted most. When she was alright with this, the others would give in as well.

Ron groaned, as if reading Harry’s thoughts. “Merlin,” then he stared at Draco aggressively, “Fine, Malfoy, you can stay. But if you dare to even imply that you’ve got a higher opinion of yourself than of the rest of us, if you dare to insult my fiancé, my siblings or friends. I’m going to kick you out personally and it’s going to be my pleasure.” He paused a moment, probably checking if he had missed anything. After a few beats he added: “And that means that you’re next with cleaning.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “That will be my pleasure, Weasley.”

Ron rolled his eyes.

“And don’t call me Weasley when you’re living with us. Could mean any out of three.” Draco nodded. He stepped toward the bar, offering Ron his hand.

“Don’t call me Malfoy then. I’m on a good way to make myself the family’s shame. There are mere hours left before the first howler arrives to disinherit me.” Ron eyed his hand suspiciously, but then shrugged and shook it shortly.

“Guess that’s the first positive on a long list of reds,” he admitted.

“I actually wrote a guide on how to become the family’s shame,” said George who had left his armchair to offer Draco his hand, “you might find it to be useful.”

And Draco laughed.


	2. The One Where Draco Gives Away His Scarf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mention of (canonical) past character death

“So.”

They were sitting at the breakfast table. George, who was surprisingly silent in the early mornings, reading the Daily Prophet. Harry who much treasured that very trait because he really wasn’t up to talking before his first coffee. And Hermione who was brooding over a ridiculously big book. 

“So?” Harry asked Draco after – unsurprisingly – no one else felt responsible for over a minute. He was slow in the mornings.

Draco was leaning against the broad kitchen counter. It was still the original kitchen counter that one. They had kept it when they had redesigned the space. The kitchen and dining space looked much different, though. As it should, seeing that they had moved it to the second floor, right above the coffee shop on ground level. Now, the area was flooded by natural light from the big window-front, the daylight adding a nice shine to the wooden surfaces that had been underground for so long. Much less gloomy. 

“Is there…a special seating?” Draco seemed nervous to ask. 

Harry could sympathise. It must be strange to wake up the morning after your wedding, unmarried and in a house full of people you used to hate, who used to hate you. He gestured at the length of the long wooden table. That, too, was taken from the original Black kitchen. 

“Feel free,” he invited with a loose smile. There were by far more seats than people which proved especially practical when the rest of the Weasleys decided to drop by. 

Draco nodded and after some consideration chose the chair next to Harry who was sitting opposite of the other two. As soon as Draco sat, Kreacher appeared from seemingly nowhere, making the blonde flinch in surprise. 

“Would Master Malfoy like breakfast?” the elf squeaked in his usual thin voice.  
Harry thought with amusement that Kreacher was probably exited beyond anything to serve the son of Narcissa Black. He could hear Fred snicker from behind the newspaper. 

Draco looked around nervously, seemingly suspecting a trick question.

Harry laughed. “Go on,” he said in encouragement and watched bemused as Draco stammered that anything would be fine and then went with Kreacher’s first suggestion of bacon with eggs and toast.  
The elf immediately got busy in the kitchen and Draco looked at Harry in obvious disbelieve.

“You own a house elf?” he asked, voice lowered to not let Kreacher hear him. Harry raised an eyebrow at the amount of judgement in his voice. 

“We hired him specifically for you, so you don’t lose that stick up your ass on the first day living with us,” George commented from behind his newspaper. 

Harry saw Hermione suppressing a smile. She had given up on convincing Kreacher to retire eventually, but only after Kreacher had actually complained about her to Harry. It had been one of the more awkward conversations of his life. 

Draco looked scandalised. 

Harry shrugged. “I don’t, really. I mean, I inherited him with the House, but he is staying out of his free will.”

Kreacher made a noise of protest at the suggestion that he would ever voluntarily leave the house of the noble Blacks from where he was frying bacon. 

“What about Dobby?” Draco asked. 

Harry had watched him push around his last bit of bacon on the plate from the corner of his eyes for a while. So, he had seen a question coming. He was somewhat caught cold by the question itself, though. 

There hadn’t been much talk between the four of them so far, everyone basking in their own morning routine. But for how silent it had been before; it seemed even quieter now. And Draco, Harry thought, realised that, too. He knew without looking that Hermione was exchanging a worried glance with George. Harry had a faint ringing in his ears. He tried to take another sip of his coffee but had to realise that the cup was empty. 

“He died,” Hermione said, eventually. Her voice was soft and quiet, but still carried her usual matter of fact attitude. 

“Oh,” said Draco a beat too late, “I- I’m sorry to hear. How…?” He sounded honestly sorry. Hermione smiled at him. 

“Bellatrix’ threw a knife after us when he saved us from –“ 

There was an uncomfortable pause and Harry watched as Draco closed his eyes in realisation, the corners of his mouth drawing down in a painful grimace. 

“It hit him right in the chest,” Harry finished, voice unexpectedly calm, “He died minutes later.”  
In my arms, he thought, and I could do nothing about it. 

“Harry.” That was Hermione’s voice and her hand on his as she leant over the table. “It’s not your fault.”

Harry shrugged. “I know,” he said, then meeting her eyes repeated, “I know.” He sighed and, carefully pulling his hand away from hers, rubbed his dry eyes, pushing his glasses up into his hair. 

“Have you buried him?” 

Draco looked paler than the day before when all their eyes were directed at him now. 

“I mean, is there a grave?” Draco rephrased, eyeing his plate and the last bit of bacon nervously.  
Harry, glasses back on the bridge of his nose, nodded. “Yes,” he said. 

Draco looked up at him. “I’d like to go there sometime,” he said quietly, “If that’s alright.”

Harry considered the other for a moment, head laid a bit to the side. The ringing in his ears was fading into the background. He nodded once more. “What are your plans for this afternoon?”

***

Draco had as little plans as could be expected. And that was how Harry found himself holding on to Draco’s arm as he apparated the two of them to the shore of Cornwall after his shift at the ministry. Shell Cottage could be seen in the middle distance. A misty sort of rain had their robes soaking wet within a few minutes. 

“This is where we came out after leaving the Manor,” Harry said, voice raised over the sound of breaking waves. 

The memory was surprisingly numb. Dobby lying in his arms and looking at him with such admiration, such trust. As if it was the greatest honour to die in his arms, as if it wasn’t Harry’s fault. 

“Harry!” That was Malfoy’s voice. Harry snapped out of his haze. And realised with some embarrassment that he might have been out of it for a few moments. At least that was what Draco’s alarmed look suggested. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “Let’s move on.”

“Who lives out here?” Draco wondered out loud as they were approaching the cottage, slowed down by the wet sand. Harry realised that he had neglected explaining, lost as he was in his own thoughts. 

“That’s Bill and Fleurs’ house.” He paused and after a moment he added, “You know Bill, Ron’s brother?” 

Draco nodded solemnly. “The one that was attacked by Fenrir Greyback,” he said with a pained touch to it. 

“Yes.” 

As he watched Draco’s stony face from the side, Harry realised with surprise that the other felt guilty. “I know you didn’t want them to bring Greyback that night,” he surprised himself saying.

Draco seemed surprised, too, as he had stopped walking. Harry halted a few steps later, looking back at him questioningly. 

“How do you know?” Draco asked, brows furred, “Surely you have no reason to suspect that I was that considerate after I…after what happened.” 

This was not a good path to go down right now. Not when he was reliving painful memories already. Harry watched his well-worn right shoe kick a shallow hole into the sand. 

“I don’t think you were considerate,” he clarified, “It still was a dick move to get them there in the first place, but-“ He shrugged. “-I heard you say it to Dumbledore, that you didn’t mean for him to come.” 

“So, you were there the whole time then.” 

Harry looked up. Draco had his brows raised but wasn’t looking at him.

“I wondered. With you knowing that it was Snape who killed him and all.”

“I was there the whole time,” Harry confirmed. It hadn’t occurred to him that Draco had a rather different memory of the events of that evening. “I know that you couldn’t do it in the end.”

Draco winced. Something shifted in his face. “I disarmed him,” he said with a small voice. He looked up at Harry then. “You said that to…Voldemort when – you know. I should have figured.” Harry waited but nothing else came. 

“Yes,” he said after a while, going back a few steps towards Malfoy, “And that’s why it all turned out good in the end, right?” 

When Draco didn’t respond, Harry sighed.

“Listen, I had suspected you the whole year. I told Dumbledore that it was you, the attacks and everything. And Dumbledore just-“ Harry made a face and a vague gesture. He silently counted from five down. There was no point getting all stuck up on Dumbledore failing him right now. 

“The point is. He knew. Snape told him – probably before even you knew about it – and he did nothing to prevent it, except telling Snape to do it in your place. If you ask me, it’s pretty shitty of him to only offer you help in the last possible moment. Which is still no excuse for you fucking up, but.” 

Harry sighed, smiling exasperatedly. 

“The point is,” he repeated, and he could see Draco’s mouth twitch slightly, “You had a choice there. The moment you caught him unaware you could have gone for Avada Kedavra, but you didn’t. You did what I have always done, too, when faced with the option to kill. You disarmed him.” 

They stared at each other for a few moments. Harry thought back to second year, him and Draco duelling in Lockard’s club, supposed to only disarm each other. Then sixth year, Draco trying to use an Unforgivable on him. Bloody tiles. 

“You gave that some thought, did you?” asked Draco after a while. Harry smiled tightly.

“I might have had a session or two that were focused on…the matter,” he admitted, blushing for some reason.

“Sessions?” 

“Therapy.”

“I see.” Draco seemed to ponder over it for a while. “Thank you for…telling me.”

Harry nodded. Suddenly, it seemed strange to look directly at Draco. Draco seemed to be about to say something else, when a not so distant voice carried towards them against the wind.

“Hey Harry, you gonna stand in the rain all day or are you planning to come in?”  
Harry turned his head, spotting a flame of familiar red hair in the doorway of Shell Cottage. 

“Be there in a second!” he shouted back with a grin, “I think I’m not completely wet yet.”  
As Bill laughed, Harry turned back to Draco. 

“You thinking that I chose the right thing, doesn’t mean that I’m not responsible for-“ Draco gestured vaguely in Bill’s direction.

“It wasn’t you who attacked him. And he survived.”

Draco seemed to consider that for a moment, then he nodded, sighing. “It’s a week of facing past failures, I suppose.”

Harry grinned as they headed towards the cottage where Bill was waiting, raising an eyebrow at Harry as he recognised Draco. Harry smiled apologetically. 

“Hey, Bill,” he greeted, “Draco here wanted to see Dobby’s grave. Sorry for stopping by without notice.” 

Bill looked between the two of them curiously.

“No problem, Harry, you know you’re always welcome” he said, pulling him into a short one-armed embrace, before extending his hand to Draco. Draco took it with a grateful smile.

“I’m sorry for intruding,” he said sincerely.

“Harry’s friends are welcome as well,” Bill said with a smile.  
Harry watched a wondrous smile spread on Draco’s lips. Their eyes met briefly. Friends. 

“Is Fleur in?” he asked as they stepped into the living room, freeing their robes of the rain with their wands in order to keep the floor clean. 

“She’s taken Victoire to visit her parents for a long weekend,” Bill said from the kitchen, “I couldn’t come ‘cause of work tomorrow. Draco, do you drink coffee or tea?” 

Draco seemed to need a moment to process the question. “Coffee,” he answered eventually. He looked startled. “White, no sugar, please.” 

“I’ll have it waiting for you when you come back in.”

Harry smiled. “Thank you, Bill.” 

“You’re welcome.”

Harry touched Draco’s shoulder. The other still seemed bewildered by Bill’s open friendliness towards him. Harry supposed, that after the reactions Ron and George the day before he had expected a different behaviour. 

“Come on,” Harry said nudging Draco gently towards the back door, “It’s in the garden.” 

When the door closed behind them, Draco exhaled audibly.

“That was…” 

“Bill,” Harry said simply as they walked towards the far corner of the garden where Harry had once carried the dead house elf. This time, Draco hold up his wand to protect both of them from the rain. 

“He’s like that,” Harry continued, just to talk about something as they approached their destination, 

“When Ron left us during the hunt for the Horcruxes he came here, because he knew that Bill wouldn’t judge.” 

“I didn’t know he left,” Draco said. Harry saw from the corner of his eyes that he was scanning the garden as if looking for something. Harry’s laugh was somewhat stricken. 

“How would you know,” he said. His eyes had found the weather-worn stone now. “We’ve all done regretful things. It was my fault, too, that he left. But he came back to us. That’s what counts. I’d be dead if he hadn’t.” 

They stood in front of the grave now, looking down. It was covered with Bluebells that were nodding in the wind, petals closed. 

“Hey Dobby,” Harry said softly, “I brought you someone.”  
Draco, when Harry turned to look at him from the side, was staring at the stone. A minute passed in silence. 

“I was never nice to him,” Draco said eventually. His voice sounded so pained that Harry shifted closer without thinking about it. “I don’t even know what to say.”

Another couple of moments passed.

“You tricked my Father into giving him clothes, didn’t you?” 

Harry looked up, surprised by the question.

“He wouldn’t tell me when I asked, but he said it was your fault.” 

Harry hummed. “It was,” he admitted, “One of my brightest moments, to be honest. Dobby almost killed me when he tried to protect me from dying.” He chuckled. “Remember when this Bludger was fixated on me during our match in second year? That was him. But he meant very well. I couldn’t…just stand there and watch him being treated that way.” 

Draco nodded. “I never even noticed back then, how he did nice things for me without being asked. And I was so…cruel.” 

Harry shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t possible to argue here. He had known Malfoy as a child. He had heard Dobby implying the things that were done to him. 

“He was very happy after being freed,” Harry found himself saying, “I don’t think he would reject your apology. He was very generous. And you were a child.” 

Draco made a noise that sounded like a suppressed sob. 

“So were you,” he pointed out. His voice sounded thin, as if it took him effort to speak. 

Harry didn’t know what to say to that. He hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t expected Draco to be this emotional, to show such remorse. He hadn’t expected Draco to kneel in front of the grave of his former slave, his expansive pants pressing into the wet grass, and mutter an apology. Harry could only hear half of it, and he tried not to, holding up his wand to keep off the rain instead, concentrating on the sound of the waves.

When Draco got up, in a fluid motion, he stripped his grey silk scarf from his neck. Harry’s first thought was that the other felt suffocated, a notion he was very familiar with. But Draco held the scarf out and, with a wave of his wand, let it wrap tightly around the uneven gravestone, just above the inscription Harry had put there years ago. 

They stood there for another few moments, then Draco turned towards him. Harry smiled at him warmly. 

“He would have worn that scarf forever,” he said. Draco made a face. 

"That's such a sappy thing to say, Harry." 

Harry grinned and shrugged. 

“Maybe. Still true. Let’s go in and join Bill for tea, yeah?” 

Draco grinned back, looking only a little shaken as he nodded once more. They turned towards the house, Harry with a goodbye wave for Dobby, Draco adjusting his collar with a little shiver as the wind hit his bare throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow this chapter turned out gloomier than I thought. I promise to go lighter with the next.  
For all who noticed, I mixed up the twins. George's name has been added in the first chapter. Sorry to those who thought I let Fred stay alive. 
> 
> Thank you all for leaving comments!


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